


forget about (time, you washed out)

by milk09



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Cassian-centric, Gen, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, all the other characters are just mentioned, completely unedited for that i apologize, it's from his perspective, no beta we die like men, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23506864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milk09/pseuds/milk09
Summary: Cassian is alive. He finds it's hard to make peace with it.
Relationships: Cassian Andor & Jyn Erso & Chirrut Îmwe & K-2SO & Baze Malbus & Bodhi Rook
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	forget about (time, you washed out)

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy. x

There’s a certain amount of cynicism required to survive in the Rebellion, Cassian thinks. A certain amount of detachment to shield from all the pain and suffering and war going on around them. Rebellions are built on hope, he remembers telling Jyn. And he meant it. They are. And he does have hope. For others. For the Rebellion. For the cause. For the Force. For the greater good of the galaxy. But not for himself. 

Never for himself.

Because to hope for yourself would mean hoping to be alive by the end of this war, to hope for love and friendship to last in a time where the galaxy is plagued by death and destruction. It’s useless and pointless and it hurts, and in a way he considers himself privileged to realize this when he was just a mere child, seeing his mother and father dead for a  _ cause _ , for  _ freedom _ , for the  _ Force _ , all abstract things his chubby little hands couldn’t grasp and his mind couldn’t possibly understand. 

He’s been scooped up by the Rebellion, not long after. By General Draven. He was living as a street rat years before he found them, living as a pickpocket and a thief at the tender age of seven. He was still young, but he remembers the law of the streets. He’s seen what people do to survive. Didn’t surprise him much that the Rebellion wouldn’t be too high and mighty to not stoop down to anonymous assassinations and dirty tactics to get a blow on the Galactic Empire. There’s no difference between the both of them, in that way. Empire or Alliance, it’s still war. It’s still filthy and there’s no rules, no fair game. He’s been serving the Rebellion for most of his life, and he’s had to do things he never wanted to do and seen things he never wanted to see. 

There’s a certain cynicism required to live with yourself, after all the blood spilled on your hands and all the lies coming from your mouth like that. All the trust you’ve broken and the trail of death you leave behind. 

But it’s for the greater good, he tells himself, and the Rebellion is the closest thing to a family he’ll ever let himself have, so he trusts them when they tell him to do something. His loyalty will never falter. He knows what they’re fighting for, and he knows it’s good. It’s the same thing his mother and father gave their lives for, at their core. For a  _ cause _ , for  _ freedom _ , for the  _ Force _ . He understands now, a little older, hands a little more hardened and his mind a little sharper. They died for it, and so would he. 

He knew he would die for the Rebellion one day, and that was fine with him. He’s never hoped for more than that, already resigned to an end neither glorious nor pleasant, but inevitable. 

And when he closes his eyes, knees digging on the sand in the beach, he thinks of the last thing he sees, the sky and the sea, a beautiful mirror of calm orange. He thinks of Jyn, of K-2SO, of Bodhi and Chirrut and Baze, of Pao and Eskrro and Stordan and all the men who went with them. He thinks of the Rebellion, of Draven and Mothma. He thinks of his mother and father, whose faces he forgets more and more each day, but he still remembers the warmth and security of their love. Cassian Andor thinks,  _ I’m ready. _

So it’s ironic when he wakes up, and he’s  _ alive  _ and  _ breathing _ . 

He takes in a huge gulp of air, his lungs making him sputter and cough immediately. He has a bizarre thought that he must be dead and have joined with the Force, but he shakes it off. He can feel the coarse texture of the sheets under his palms and the cloying humidity making his shirt stick to his back. He’s alive and he’s _here_ , now. _The med bay?_ At Yavin? He’s been here too many times to be mistaken. He’s on Yavin 4 and he’s alive. _But how?_ _What about the Death Star plans?_ _And the others--?_

His heart plummets to the ground. Cold starts to slither in his veins.  _ The others. _

In the midst of his panic, he fails to notice a medic approaching him. “Captain?” She questions, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. He might’ve hit her if she weren’t far enough. “Captain?” She asks again, voice soft and calm yet utterly grating to his nerves, “Glad to see you’re awake.”

“Where are the others?” He asks, ignoring her attempt at comfort, frantic. He knows he should be calm but he  _ can’t _ . He turns his head left and right to look if there’s a familiar face among the beds lined beside him, but they’re all empty. He needs to know--“Please, where are the others? Who went to Scarif?” His voice is hoarse with unuse. How long has he been here?

“Please, Captain, calm down. We need your heart rate to be stable and steady to--” She is coming closer as she tries to placate him.

He grabs her by the arms and shakes her, making her look alarmed and frightened. “I need to know. How many men died? Where is Jyn Erso? Erso. And Rook. Bodhi Rook. Are they alive? Have you seen a blind man here? Or-or a man, with a red--”

There is a vague feeling of numbness that follows the sting of a needle at his side, and darkness overtakes his senses once again.

-

When he wakes, he is told he was rescued by a shuttle when they picked him up on the beach, just before the whole planet burst into flames. When he wakes, he is told he is the only one from the ground to survive Scarif. He is told that the Death Star was destroyed, and that a ceremony will be held in the honor of the heroes and the ceremony will take place in 22 standard hours. He is told he is to be awarded, and he nods. It doesn’t feel like an honor.

When he wakes, Cassian Andor mourns, and he lets himself feel in a way he hadn’t for the longest time. 

-

It’s hard to find peace, Cassian thinks. It’s hard to find rest, but he finds he doesn’t want to. Because rest means silence, and silence breeds contemplation, and he needs none of that. There is suddenly an abundance of silence when you’re trying to fill it in with mindless noise, he notices. He used to treasure those little moments of silence, before. While waiting for his informants to arrive in a corner of the street where there’s only the vague noise of the crowd, or in between missions in solitude where he can be Cassian Andor, not Cassian Andor  _ the captain _ , though the line seems to blur even more every day that he hardly knows who he is without it. Most of war is silence, filled with waiting and tension, but silence can be a welcome comfort.

But as he now knows, silence can also be stifling, filled with the weight of the thoughts he is trying to run away from. 

He doesn’t need silence. What he needs is a distraction.

So he throws himself into action once again.

Mon Mothma herself had protested, told him that what he needs is rest so he can properly recover but a spy out of duty is as good as a dead one, and he told her as much. She didn’t argue anymore and only gave him a stare, and Cassian quickly averted his eyes and walked away. He didn’t need pity either. 

He’s deployed on another mission, now, maybe his third after the Battle of Yavin. After Scarif. He’s going by another name again. This time it’s Fulcrum.

He’s tasked to recruit more people into the Rebellion, right in the Outer Rims, in the Albarrio sector. He’s never been here before, but he knows some people here, and more importantly the Alliance does, so he lets a rumor spread that there might be a rebel agent looking for recruits and he waits. Recruitment is more of a pick-up than anything, since most of the newcomers are friends of the Alliance’s wide list of informants, and their friends and their friends’ friends and so on. Most of them are.

“So you work for the Alliance?” The girl in front of him asks, voice barely louder than a whisper but still, it manages to convey her arrogance. It’s steady, exact. Cassian almost smiles. They’re tucked in a little corner of a busy street on a planet that’s not infested with Imperials. Cassian considers himself grateful for the reprieve, although his hand is still acutely aware of where his blaster is in case things go south.

“Yes, I do,” He answers. “At least a decade, now.”

“How many will you take with you?” The girl asks, her concern betrayed only by her tone.

“Recruits?” At the girl’s nod, he says, honestly, “How many are willing, we’ll take in.” People are dying faster than they are coming, he doesn’t say. That’s part of the reason he’s in recruitment, anyway. He tries not to lie, now.

They’ll be leaving in three standard days time, he says, although he does leave the exact time and hour off just in case of an ambush. He names a place, the Gian-se spaceport, and then they part, Cassian-- _ Fulcrum _ \--staying behind for a few minutes to look less suspicious, then he makes his leave, eyes alert. 

-

When the girl arrives at Gian-se, she is with four other beings, cloaked and dirty. He gestures to the four others behind the girl, “These your friends?” They look barely older than sixteen. Kids. One’s a Nautolan, fidgety, eyes impossibly wide, two seemed human, one looking cautious and the other looking completely at ease. The last one was a Dathomirian, of all species, shoulders hunched but eyes attentive, hood and cloak covering almost his whole being. 

“Yes, they are,” The girl answers, sure and steady. Cassian gives them a nod and that seems to put them more at ease, at least.

They’re boarding the plane, checking all the other recruits--one Twi'lek and five humans--when a hand reaches up to grab him, and his other hand automatically reaches for his blaster, finger on the trigger and ready to shoot, pressing it to the chest of--the Nautolan.

“Is the Rebellion--Is the Rebel Alliance good?” He stutters out as his grip on Cassian’s arm loosens. Cassian furrows his brows but puts back his blaster anyway. 

_ Of course the Alliance is good _ , he could say,  _ we fight against Imps and their buckethead soldiers! We fight for freedom and the liberation of the Galaxy! We fight for democracy! We fight for all that is good!  _

Instead, he asks, “What do you mean, is it good?” He notices the other rebels and recruits looking at them in alarm, and he makes a dismissive gesture. Still, he can’t help but let the annoyance and incredulousness seep into his voice. “We are about to board a plane to some remote planetoid nobody even cared to name, and only now do you ask about the Rebellion?”

The boy seems to whither under his tone and Cassian feels the hint of guilt bloom on his chest. He knows a street rat when he sees one, and not so long ago he’s known the streets of Fest better than he knew anyone or anything. These kids aren’t so far behind. They’re just scared. Confused.

“Rebellions are built on hope,” He says, and the words feel strange and foreign and heavy on his tongue with all the weight that it carries, “The Alliance isn’t above using any means to win this war, because war is dirty and it kills and destroys. The longer it goes on, the more death it brings the Galaxy. But we’re fighting for a cause, not for power. We fight for freedom… for the Force.” He frees his arm from the Nautolan’s grip, “Hopefully that will answer your question.”

He climbs up to the cockpit to avoid the stares of both the rebels and recruits, finding their silence awkward and suffocating, so he leaves them like that, in silence. He sits on the co-pilot’s seat, staring at the droid manning the aircraft, barely more than a lifeless piece of metal without care or personality. He looks at the night sky of the planet before it fades into hyperspace and heaves a sigh.

His heart remains heavy and he falls asleep to the whirr of the engine and to the thought of friends long gone.

-

The droid wakes him, cold metal appendages pressing onto his skin, and Cassian startles from his dreamless sleep.  _ The ship has landed onto Planetoid 5251977 _ , the droid informs him, and Cassian thanks it even if there’s no reply back. When Cassian goes down to the cabin, everyone is busy checking their things to spare him more than a glance and a nod as they leave. He finds the Nautolan from earlier talking quietly with his other companions, and their conversation fades as he nears.

“Look, kid,” He starts, regret already coloring his tone. “I can take you back to your planet if you really don’t want to join the Rebellion. We’re not forcing anyone to join here.”

“N-no, it’s fine. It was my idea to join the rebels.  _ I  _ had the contact. I  _ want  _ to join.  _ We  _ want to.” The group behind the boy seems to smile in pride. The kid’s tentacles twitch and his hands are bunched up into fists but his voice is firm, and Cassian believes him.

-

The mission debriefing is finished by dusk, and Cassian is allowed to leave just as the sun is starting to touch the horizon. Sunsets here last for days, the planetoid moving in a slow crawl around its sun and an even slower rotation, and he made it just in time for the start of a new one. The dusk cycle, some rebels had begun to call it.

There’s not that thick of vegetation here, unlike Yavin 4. No dense tropical jungles. It’s better than Hoth, at least. None of that cold that seeps through flesh and bone. Not many animals here, either. Seems like 5251977 is as unknown to beasts as it is to every sentient being in the galaxy. It’s good for the Rebellion, at least. They need to recover from what happened to Echo base. It might take a while.

And still, he breathes and lives to see another day.

The planetoid isn’t completely devoid of life. The planet is habitable and has natural oxygen. There are patches of sprawling pine trees almost everywhere, though there are a lot of barren spaces of land where the Rebellion eventually settled and claimed as their base. There’s a clearing, in one of those parts of boreal forests, where Cassian claimed it as his own.

The sun paints the sky the strongest shade of orange and Cassian closes his eyes. He thinks of the last thing he sees, the sky and the trees. He thinks of Jyn, of K-2SO, of Bodhi and Chirrut and Baze, of Pao and Eskrro and Stordan and all the men who went with them. He thinks of the Rebellion, of Draven and Mothma. He thinks of his mother and father. He thinks of the new recruits he’s brought, the Dathomirian, the human girl, the Nautolan and the two other humans with them, their fierce determination and youthful naivete painfully familiar, and how their eyes reflect souls he’s seen before. 

When he opens his eyes, it’s still sunset, and the sun is halfway down the horizon as he walks back to the base. There is the beginnings of hope in his heart, one he hasn't felt in a long time. A spark.

There is much left to do.

  
When Cassian Andor opens his eyes, he thinks,  _ I’m ready _ .

**Author's Note:**

> additional notes:  
> \- basically cassian hasn't been in the rebel alliance since he was six, but he's been fighting in a separate rebel cell and that's how he got the alliance's attention  
> \- the nautolan's name is namua  
> \- i think nautolans are cool  
> \- the dathomirian's name is ruul
> 
> this story did not go in any of the directions i planned it to go, but i'm kinda glad it didn't. it is based on canon but there are some stuff i just made up to piece things together.
> 
> title: forget about - sibylle baier 
> 
> [my tumblr](https://miyochee.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thank u so much for reading :D !! x


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